A Canadian boy Mama trying to stumble my way through parenthood and life with a sense of humour.

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About Me

I'm a sassy long winded Canadian girl, just fumbling my way through life. I love my job, my family, my friends and my TV. I enjoy reading, writing and hanging with my friends and family. I'm a Mom, which scares the crap out of me, but at the same time this experience is making me stronger yet softer and more patient.
This is my place to vent, share my thoughts and hear others so feel free to comment away!

I Survived Mild HG.

I could work, but I spent my entire evening vomiting until about 2 am every day. I “slept” on my birthing ball in my 2nd and 3rd trimester until about 2 am because I couldn’t get out of bed fast enough or to a bucket fast enough and was tired of vomiting on myself and changing sheets in the middle of the night.

I had only a few hospital visits, but not because I didn’t need to go or shouldn’t have gone. I can’t tell you how many times I was dehydrated or malnourished but too scared and frustrated with being told yet again at the Emergency Room that I was fine, to just drink some ginger ale, take “small sips” of water or get some preggo pops. None of that works.

I can’t tell you how many times I was asked if I was sure the medication I was taking wasn’t harming the baby, and that maybe I shouldn’t take so much. But that medication was making it so I could function while “just” being nauseous all day swallowing back bile until I could make it home and spend my nights vomiting my guts out.

I may have managed to survive and enjoy a trip to New York in my 2nd trimester where I didn’t vomit once the whole time I was there and thought I was in the clear. I thought the worst was over only to be hit with the reality that is was just a short reprieve because as soon as I landed in Toronto I didn’t even make it through customs before I was hugging a toilet…again.

I was 7 months pregnant and went on a weekend trip to Montreal that I managed to clog the tub in the hotel room with my vomit and have to scoop it out with my bare hands. My friends and Ivan probably didn’t have as much fun as they hoped because I was so nauseous that it took everything I had to walk a few blocks very slowly.

I was told I shouldn’t complain and should be grateful that I could at least have a baby. And I guess “they” were right; I was lucky I could get pregnant, but that was no guarantee that I would carry my baby to term. And I was terrified and paranoid and stressed out every day that I was going to go through ALL OF THIS, this pain, this isolation, this experience that was supposed to be wonderful yet was my own personal hell just to lose him in the end. Because that was a REAL risk. Every time he didn’t move when he was supposed to, my heart sank. I cried every night because I knew I wouldn’t survive if both of us didn’t make it through this.

And that was just while I was pregnant. It didn’t end there.

It was supposed to be over after I had Henry in my arms but the mental and emotional turmoil this disease placed on me almost broke me. And then I had to field all the “When are you going to have another one?” “Why not have more, it wasn’t so bad!”

I was paranoid about losing Henry because I have gone through too much to have him. I know new parents barely sleep, but I CHOSE not to because I physically couldn’t as I was terrified something would happen to him. My relationship with food became skewed, I knew what it was like to starve and I was scared of having that feeling again so I overate. I had crazy food aversions because I knew how painful it was to “come back up”. I have chronic acid reflux and still pop Tums every night because I can’t lay down without it.

And now I have my boy who is a beautiful sometimes frustrating light in my life and we went through hell…together. We survived Hyperemesis Gravidarum together.

I had mild HG, it could have been worse, but it was the worst it could be for me.